In Another Life
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Before Harley Quinn met the Joker, a chance run-in with a gangster named Jack Napier forever changes the course of young Harleen Quinzel's life.
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life**

"Jack, quit playing with that damn card and pay attention!"

Jack Napier sighed, folding the Joker playing card back into the pack and pocketing the deck.

"Now when you get inside, I want Chuckie and Buzz covering the guys at the cash registers. Jack, I want you covering the guys on the floor and making sure nobody leaves. Jack, you listening?"

"On the floor, yeah, yeah," muttered Jack.

"I mean it, Jack. If someone gets out and alerts the police, it won't be funny."

Jack smiled. "Got a joke for you, Sal. What do you call a hostage who tries to escape from me? Dead meat!"

Jack laughed. Nobody else did. Salvatore Valestra, the leader of the gang, suddenly grabbed Jack by the collar and pulled him out of the backseat of the car towards him. "You need to stop trying to be a comedian, Jack," he hissed. "You ain't funny."

Jack glared at him in loathing as Sal shoved him away. "Now get outta here, all of you. I'll be waiting with the engine on – you got ten minutes and we're gone, get me? So don't mess around. Get the cash and get out."

Chuckie and Buzz muttered, "Yes, boss."

"Jack?" demanded Sal.

"Yes, boss," muttered Jack.

"Good. Beat it," said Sal.

The three gangsters climbed out of the car and slammed the door. "Ok, seriously, guys, don't tell me I'm the only one who thinks Sal is losing it," muttered Jack as they walked.

"He's gotta point," said Chuckie, shrugging. "These places are pretty hopping at lunchtime. Could take a good wad of dough."

"There's more dough elsewhere," retorted Jack. "Banks, museums, jewelry stores, for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, but those places are heavily guarded," retorted Buzz. "And Sal don't want a lot of trouble."

"The guy's no fun," muttered Jack, pulling out a cigarette. "He needs to loosen up and learn how to take a joke, instead of planning jokes like this whole operation. We're gonna look real stupid, a bunch of gangsters holding up a fast-food joint."

"Thought you wanted people laughing at you, Jack," retorted Chuckie.

"Not because I look stupid," snapped Jack. "Do I look like a clown to you, Chuckie?"

"Nah, you ain't got the red nose and the funny shoes like this guy here," said Chuckie, gesturing to the clown statue outside the fast-food restaurant.

"That's because I ain't a clown," retorted Jack. "I don't want people laughing at me. I want people laughing at my jokes."

"I dunno, Jack," said Buzz, grinning. "I reckon you'd make a pretty good clown. My girlfriend can loan you her lipstick, if you want. Might suit you. Kinda be difficult to take you seriously as a criminal, though."

He laughed, and Chuckie joined in. "Oh, I dunno, Buzz," replied Jack, grinning. "You fire a couple rounds in someone's face and people tend to take you pretty seriously, however you look."

To prove his point, he pulled out his gun and shot the clown statue in the face several times. "Aw, Jesus Christ, Jack, you got 'em panicked!" shouted Chuckie, as he and Buzz rushed into the restaurant, pulling out their own guns and shouting for everyone to put their hands in the air and get down on the floor.

Jack chuckled to himself, smiling at the clown's mutilated face. He wasn't a huge fan of clowns. They tended to creep him out. "Just gave you a round of applause, Funny Boy!" he chuckled, lighting his cigarette and strolling leisurely into the restaurant.

He inhaled deeply, looking around at the chaos. He enjoyed this. There was nothing like the smell of fear and the look of terror in people's eyes during a hold-up. Although he was getting really sick of taking orders from idiots like Sal Valestra. If he was in charge of the gang, they wouldn't be hitting small-time targets like this. Where was the fun in that? They'd be going after big things – Gotham City Bank, Gotham History Museum, Wayne Manor, maybe. Sal just didn't have any style or flair for crime. And what was the point of crime if you weren't going to have a little fun? And speaking of fun, it was his time to shine.

"All right, ladies and gents!" he said, scanning the room with his gun. "Just stay calm and nobody is gonna get hurt! I should tell ya though, I got a bit of an itchy trigger finger, so if anyone makes any sudden movements, they tend to end up with a bullet in their brains. It ain't nothing personal – just a nervous tick, y'know." He laughed to himself. "So, who wants to hear some jokes? I got a million of 'em for occasions like this. How about this one? Why do they call it fast food? Anyone got any guesses? Anyone? No? It's called fast food because you're supposed to eat it really fast. Otherwise, you might actually taste it!" He laughed hysterically, glancing around the room.

He stopped laughing suddenly as his eyes fell upon a teenage girl not far from him. The group of friends surrounding her had terror in their eyes, just like everyone else in the joint, but not her. She glared back at him with wide, blue eyes, annoyed, but not afraid. And as much as he enjoyed seeing fear in people's faces, the fact that she wasn't afraid was kinda intriguing. And kinda hot.

He approached her, puffing on his cigarette. "Get the joke, sweetheart?" he murmured. "Need me to explain it to you?"

"Do I look dumb?" retorted the girl, eyes narrowing.

He studied her small, shapely body, just developing into womanhood, her blonde hair done up in pigtails, and her pretty little face, red lips pouting at him in annoyance.

"Nah, not dumb, sweets," he muttered. "Hot, though. Daddy wouldn't mind a piece of that."

"In your dreams, grandpa," she snapped.

He laughed. "You are kinda dumb if you start provoking your captors, sweets. It's a real bad idea, kid. Might have to give you a spanking."

He grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. "If you get the joke, why ain't you laughing, baby?" he murmured.

"Because you ain't funny," she snapped.

He chuckled. "Feisty little minx, ain't ya?" he whispered. "Daddy likes that. But he also likes people to laugh at his jokes. So why don't you do that before Daddy is forced to punish his bad little girl?"

He flicked out a knife and held it against the girl's throat. "Go on, sweetheart," he murmured. "Laugh."

"I ain't gonna laugh for you," whispered the girl, glaring at him.

"Wrong answer, kid," he murmured, pressing the blade against her skin. She gasped in pain. Jack slowly danced the blade over her face and neck and chest, teasing. "Where should Daddy mark his precious baby?" he murmured, sliding the blade back up to her face. "Oh, I know. How about a nice big smile?"

"Jack, time's up, we gotta go," said Chuckie, throwing the sack of money over his shoulder and heading for the door. "Boss ain't gonna wait for us."

"Oh, too bad, baby," whispered Jack, grabbing her face in his hand and dragging it close to his. "We're all outta playtime. Shame. There's no fun in a heist where nobody gets hurt. But ain't you just the luckiest girl in the world?"

She didn't respond, just gazed at him with a strange, indefinable expression in her blue eyes. They were really pretty, those big blue eyes, and those red little lips, slightly parted in shock. Too pretty to resist. He suddenly shoved his own lips against them, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She gave a little cry, but he wasn't sure whether it was pleasure or repulsion. Probably the latter, he thought, although it seemed to him that she pressed her mouth tentatively against his in return. Nah, that must have been his imagination, wishful thinking on his part, that a girl like that would want a guy like him. He drew out of her mouth and released her face, chuckling, and then reached into his pocket.

"You ever get lonely, baby, you give me a call. Here's my card."

He shoved a playing card into her pants. "See you later, sweets," he said, winking at her. The gangsters left the restaurant.

"Harley!" cried one of the girl's friends, rushing toward her and hugging her. "Oh my God, Harley, are you all right?!"

"Yeah," stammered the girl, staring after the gangsters. Her whole body was shaking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Oh God, Harley, that was the scariest thing I ever saw!" exclaimed her friend. "You must have been terrified!"

"Yeah," murmured Harley again, her eyes glassy. She was confused about her feelings, actually. It hadn't been terror. She knew what terror felt like. This had been new and strange and exciting, intoxicating. It had made the blood pump through her, made her body tingle and her heart race like nothing else ever had before. That seemed really weird, considering she had been threatened. Considering she had had a weapon held against her body, so keen she could feel the point cutting into her flesh, caressing her skin...she hadn't wanted it to stop. That didn't make any sense.

And when he had drawn her face close to his, her heart had pounded in excitement at the thought that he might kiss her. And then he had, and it was…the most amazing feeling in the world. The feel of his lips, his tongue, invading her mouth was…incredible.

That was wrong. That was really wrong and messed up. It was disgusting. She was disgusting for feeling that way in that situation, and about a guy twice her age. What the hell was wrong with her? It was like she was some kinda sick freak. She felt ashamed and dirty…but that didn't necessarily feel bad.

She knew she couldn't tell her friend about it – she wouldn't understand. No one would understand.

Harley shook her head and hugged her friend back. "Hey, I'm ok, and that's what matters. Enough excitement for one day, though, don't you think?" she said, forcing a laugh. "But at least we got a good story to tell, right? C'mon, let's go home."

Her friends headed for the door. Harley was about to follow them, when she suddenly remembered that he had left her something. She reached into her pants and pulled out the playing card. She looked at it, puzzled, then shrugged and followed her friends, resolving to try to forget the whole thing. But she couldn't conceal a smile as she remembered how he had made her feel, what incredible, delightful sensations he had awoken, feelings she never could have imagined before. She carefully slid the playing card back into her pants, holding it tightly against her flesh. It was the face of a Joker.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi, honey. How was lunch?" asked Harley's mother as she entered the apartment, shutting the door.

"Fine," replied Harley, simply. She had resolved not to tell her parents about the incident – it would only worry them.

"Ricky stopped by to ask if you were in," said her mother, leaving the kitchen and drying her hands on a dishtowel. "He's such a nice boy, Harley."

"Yeah, Mom," sighed Harley. "Yeah, he is."

"You know with the Prom coming up, I thought maybe it might be nice to go with him…"

"Mom, Ricky's my friend, and nothing else," interrupted Harley. "I don't want him to be anything else. It would just be weird."

"Well, I know your father isn't too keen on you dating and distracting yourself from your studying," said her mother. "But I'd really like to see you happy with a nice boy, Harley. You know life's not all about work and study."

"Tell that to Dad," retorted Harley.

"Your father has had to work really hard his whole life to provide for us, Harley," said her mother, gently. "You can't blame him for wanting to teach his daughter those same values."

"Tina's dad takes her skating," replied Harley. "And Beth's always got her dad going to the movies with her. Why is my dad the only one who's no fun?"

"He loves you very much, Harley," murmured her mother. "And that's what matters really, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess," sighed Harley. She reached for an apple. "I'll be in my room, Mom."

Harley's room in the tiny apartment was barely big enough for her bed, but at least it was private. She collapsed onto the bed, biting into the apple and staring up the ceiling. Her hand slid down to touch the playing card again. She shut her eyes, remembering. _Daddy wouldn't mind a piece of that…before Daddy is forced to punish his bad little girl…Might have to give you a spanking…_

"Oh," sighed Harley in delight as the feelings washed over her again, memories of the feel of the knife against her body, tingling it. "Oh…oh yes," she murmured, stroking the card. "Oh, I am a bad girl, aren't I, Daddy? A real bad girl, for liking that."

_Where should Daddy mark his precious baby?...ain't you just the luckiest girl in the world…you ever get lonely, baby, you give me a call…_

"Oh…Daddy!" She had a sudden, graphic fantasy of the gangster on top of her, touching her, his hands firm and rough on her body. She remembered what his breath had felt like, so close to her mouth, and in her mouth, and the taste of his tongue, firm and hard. "Oh, Daddy, kiss me!" she gasped. "Please kiss me again! And then keep going! I wanna know what it feels like! I wanna know what it all feels like! Teach me, Daddy, please!"

She imagined him laughing. She had never heard anything like his laugh before. It was intoxicating. "Oh…oh…this is so wrong!" she gasped. "So dirty! Oh, Daddy, punish your dirty girl!"

"Harley? Ricky's here!" called her mother, suddenly.

Harley's eyes snapped open, her face flushed and breathing heavily. "Just a second, Mom!" she called, jumping off the bed and rushing over to the small mirror, making sure she didn't look too red. She tucked the playing card deep into her pocket, so no one would notice it, and then left her room, forcing a smile.

"Hi Ricky, what are you doing here?" asked Harley, smiling at the teenage boy seated at the kitchen table. He was a nice-looking young man with a friendly, honest face that beamed when it saw Harley.

"Just thought we could hang out, if you're not busy," he said.

"Oh…yeah, that'd be nice, Ricky, except I think dinner's gonna be ready soon…"

"Which you're welcome to stay for, Ricky," interrupted Harley's mother, smiling at him.

"Thanks, Mrs. Quinzel, that'd be nice," replied Ricky. "But actually there was something I just wanted to talk to Harley about. It won't take long."

Harley didn't like the sound of that, but she forced a smile again. "Wow, sounds serious," she replied, grinning. "You know I ain't a serious gal, Ricky."

"Well, I hope you'll take this seriously," replied Ricky, sincerely. "It's kinda important to me, Harley."

Harley's heart sank further. "Well, guess we'd better go outside, then," she said, gesturing out the back door. "See you in a second, Mom."

They went out to the fire escape. Ricky sat down on the stairs, and Harley swung from the railing, staring out at the city in front of them and trying not to look at him.

"So what is it, Ricky?" she asked. "Homework or something?"

"Nah, something more important than school," he replied.

"Don't let my dad hear you say that – there ain't nothing more important than school to him," retorted Harley, grinning. Her smile dropped when she saw the sincerity in Ricky's face. She was dreading this.

Ricky cleared his throat. "Look, Harley, we've been friends for a long time," he said. "Since we were kids together, y'know…"

_It's a real bad idea, kid_. The word prompted the gangster's voice in Harley's head again, and her mind immediately flashed back to him and his knife, stroking her flesh. She struggled to focus back on what Ricky was saying.

"…lately I've felt myself feeling differently about you, as something more than a friend, and I thought it would be a shame if I didn't tell you…"

_We're all outta playtime. Shame_.

"…just wanted to know if you felt the same. And if you did, maybe we could start going steady or something. Just thought I should tell you sooner rather than later, 'cause Prom's coming up and all…"

_See you later, sweets._

"…thought you might wanna go with me and we could make it official. So…I've said what I needed to. Just waiting for your answer."

_Wrong answer, kid_.

Harley forced herself back from her fantasy. She knew this was a really important moment, and she should be paying complete attention to it. For the first time in her life, a guy was asking her out. A nice guy. A real nice guy. That was the problem.

"Oh…Ricky…that's real sweet," said Harley, slowly. "And I'm real flattered and all, but…"

"But?" repeated Ricky, his face falling.

"But there's kinda…someone else," Harley invented quickly.

Ricky stared at her. "You're going to Prom with someone else? Who?"

"I ain't going to Prom with him," retorted Harley. "I wasn't planning on going to Prom, actually. Dad wants me to start applying for scholarships to colleges, and that's gonna take a lot of time, y'know. No, just…someone else. Y'know. That I'm interested in."

"Oh," said Ricky, quietly. "Do I know him?" he asked. "Guy from school?"

"Nah, he don't go to our school," replied Harley. "He's finished school, actually."

"You're interested in an older guy, Harley?" asked Ricky, surprised.

"There ain't nothing wrong with that," snapped Harley. "Lots of gals like older guys."

"Where did you meet him?" asked Ricky.

"At a restaurant. Look, I don't really wanna talk about him anymore, ok?" snapped Harley.

"Why not? We usually don't have any secrets from each other," replied Ricky, frowning. "What's so bad about this guy that you feel you can't tell me about him?"

"You just wouldn't understand, Ricky," retorted Harley. "I don't really understand myself. I just can't stop thinking about him, though. And so while I'm really touched that you asked me out, you understand why I can't accept. It wouldn't feel right. You're my best friend, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," murmured Ricky. He couldn't conceal the disappointment in his face. "Well…thanks for being honest, Harley," he said, standing up. "Hope you don't mind if I don't stay for dinner. I just want some time alone, y'know."

"I'm sorry, Ricky, I really am," replied Harley, sincerely. She hugged him. "We'll always be best friends though, ok?"

"Yeah. Swell, Harley," he replied, forcing a smile. "Well…see you later, then."

"Yeah. Bye, Ricky."

She escorted him to the front door just as the key turned in the lock, and Harley's father entered. "Oh, hello, Ricky," he said. "Nice to see you."

His face implied the opposite of those words – he glared from Ricky to Harley in disapproval. "And you, Mr. Quinzel," replied Ricky. "I'll see you soon. Bye, Harley."

He left, shutting the door behind him. "I don't like that kid distracting you from your studies," said Harley's father, sternly.

"Ain't I allowed to have friends, Dad?" snapped Harley.

"_Aren't _you allowed to have friends," corrected her father. "See, you pick up bad speech patterns hanging around those kids. You gotta always speak properly, Harley. You don't want something like 'ain't' slipping out when you have a job interview or at college or something. People will think you're stupid. You always gotta speak correctly so you'll fit in."

"Yeah, I really wanna sound like everyone else," said Harley, sarcastically.

"You don't take that tone of voice with me, young lady," retorted her father. "I've had a hard day. Dinner ready yet, Gladys?" he shouted into the kitchen.

"Just coming out of the oven now, George," called Harley's mother.

"Go set the table, Harley," commanded her father, striding into the living room.

Harley glared at him and then stormed into the kitchen, seizing the silverware and shoving it angrily out on the kitchen table. "Harley, try to be patient with him," murmured her mother. "He's probably had a hard day."

"He's always had a hard day," snapped Harley. "Why do I always have to deal with it? It ain't my fault."

"Because sometimes when you love people, you have to put up with bad things," replied her mother, quietly. "But always make sure the good things make putting up with the bad things worthwhile."

Harley sighed. "Ricky's not staying for dinner?" asked her mother, serving the casserole.

"Nah," replied Harley. "I turned him down, Mom, it would've been awkward."

"Why did you turn him down?" asked her mother, puzzled. "He's such a nice boy."

"It just wouldn't have felt right," replied Harley. "I feel bad for him, I really do, but I ain't gonna date a guy just because I pity him."

Her mother nodded and served the rest of the meal in silence. Harley knew she didn't understand, but her mother often kept her opinions to herself. Unlike her father.

He entered at that moment and they all sat down as Harley's mother handed them their plates. They ate in silence for some minutes before Harley's mother said, "How was work, dear? Did you sell a lot of cars?"

"Nah, people aren't buying," retorted Harley's father. "Not with the economy the way it is. Boss is worried too – talking about folding the business."

"He can't do it just like that, surely?" asked Harley's mother, concerned. "One day you're in a job and the next day you're out? What kinda world are we living in?"

"A crazy one, Gladys," retorted Harley's father. "You gotta try real hard to keep sane in it, I tell ya."

"So what are you gonna do, Dad?" asked Harley. "If the business folds?"

He shrugged. "Get another job somewhere. You always gotta keep working, Harley. You gotta make money, and you gotta be a success."

"And you gotta make money to be a success, Dad?" asked Harley.

"You gotta take responsibility for yourself, yeah," retorted her father. "You see all these unemployed slackers, and you know what their problem is, Harley? Laziness. They think they can just sit on their asses and let us hard-working people pay for them. They may get a free ride, but they ain't got no self-respect, and that's the most important thing. You gotta wake up every day and look in the mirror and say, 'I respect me. I am who I am because I worked hard and succeeded. I did it. I am responsible for me.'"

"But maybe they can't work, Dad," replied Harley. "Maybe they're physically ill. Or mentally ill, or…"

"Don't give me that crap!" snapped her father. "Mentally ill, my ass! That's a term made up by shrinks to excuse lazy people and freaks! People who are just too stubborn and lazy to do what people expect them to do, because they think they're special somehow! They ain't special! They don't deserve a free ride, no one does."

"But there's gotta be something that makes them the way they are…" began Harley.

"Who cares?" interrupted her father. "They're crazy freaks! I don't want 'em explained, I just want 'em put away. Or better yet, put down."

"That's real compassionate of you, Dad," retorted Harley.

"They don't deserve compassion!" retorted her father. "Don't you start trying to be sympathetic to them, or you'll end up just like them! And I'll disown you, Harley, I swear to God! No daughter of mine is going to end up a crazy freak, you get me?!"

"Yes, Dad," murmured Harley. Her hand slid down to the card in her pocket and stroked it, trying to calm herself despite her body shaking in fury. There was no arguing with her father, no reasoning with him. He was always right and everyone else was always wrong. She couldn't wait to get out of here and head to college. It was one of the reasons she worked so hard in school, because she knew she had to earn a scholarship or she'd be stuck here forever. And she thought she'd go crazy if she had to do that.

After dinner, Harley's father had his usual glass of scotch in front of the TV, with his wife sitting next to him on the sofa, sewing. Harley sat on the floor, working on her homework, barely listening to the drone of the newscaster until her attention was suddenly caught by the words "…hold-up at a local fast-food restaurant this afternoon…"

"Harley! Isn't that where you were?" asked her mother, looking up.

"Yeah," replied Harley, staring at the screen. "But earlier, I guess. Before this happened."

"Thank God," breathed her mother.

"…from the descriptions given by the witnesses questioned, police have identified the perpetrators as Chuckie Sol, Buzz Bronski, and Jack Napier, known associates of Salvatore Valestra…"

Harley's heart skipped a beat as the mugshot of the man who had threatened her flashed onto the screen. Her breathing sped up a little as she gazed in adoration at his smiling face. He had such a gorgeous smile…

"Look at those freaks," muttered Harley's father. "Scum, the lot of them."

"They ain't scum," breathed Harley.

"You say something?" snapped her father.

"They ain't scum," she repeated, turning to face him. "Maybe they made some mistakes in life, but that don't make them worthless."

"Mistakes?" repeated her father, staring at her in disbelief. "They're goddamn criminals, Harley! They break the law! They're the lowest of the low, and less than worthless! They should all be shot in the head or put in the chair, and if right and decent people ran the world, they all would be! Instead we got charlatan courts and doctors trying to explain away their problems and defend them and cure them, as if they can ever be cured! Once you go bad, you're bad for life! It ain't got nothing to do with mistakes – it's got to do with being rotten at the core! Now don't talk back to me and do your goddamn homework!"

Harley felt tears come to her eyes, but she forced her eyes back down to her paper. The tears fell, smudging her writing. "You mean that, Dad?" she asked quietly, turning back to him. "If you're bad, there's no way you can ever be good again?"

"Why are you crying?" asked her father, his face suddenly becoming tender. "You know I don't like to see you cry."

"Sorry," murmured Harley, wiping her eyes. "Guess I just felt sorry for…bad people. It must be kinda hard to know you're bad and wrong and knowing there's nothing you can do to change it."

Her father stood up and held out his arms. She rushed into his embrace and he hugged her tightly. "Harley," he murmured. "You're a sweet girl. You're too sensitive, and I don't think that's gonna help you in life. You have to try not to feel so much, ok, honey? Especially not for bad people. See, bad people aren't like you and me, honey. They don't think the way we do, or act the way we do, because they're monsters. You don't feel sorry for monsters, do you, Harley?"

"No," murmured Harley.

"No," he agreed. "So don't feel sorry for bad people. Just as long as you always try to be good and do your best and try your hardest, that's what matters. I'll be so proud of you, Harley."

"I want you to be proud of me, Dad," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

She did want that. But she also didn't want to have to be ashamed of who she was. She wondered if her father knew everything, whether he would judge her as bad to the core. She certainly judged herself that way. If she couldn't change it, could she at least hide it? She would certainly try her hardest. She would have to, or she would be a failure. Freaks and bad people didn't get anywhere in life.

She undressed and climbed into bed that night, tucking the playing card under her pillow. She stroked it gently, staring into the darkness and thinking. Jack Napier, they had said his name was. Jack. That wasn't mysterious enough. J. Mr. J. That's how she would think about him. Mr. J. Her bad man. The only man she could truly be herself around, at least in her head. They could be bad together. And it would be so good.

She put the playing card to her lips and kissed it, then safely put it back underneath her pillow, shutting her eyes and whispering, "Goodnight, Mr. J."


	3. Chapter 3

"…_the work of Batman, Gotham's own vigilante hero, who has already seriously crippled the Falcone and Maroni crime families..._"

Harley tried to tune out the noise of the television and focus on the psychiatric text in front of her. It wasn't working. "Um…Amy, would you mind turning off the TV?" she asked, turning to her roommate. "I'm kinda trying to concentrate. Y'know I've got an exam tomorrow and I'd really like to study in peace…"

"Go to the library," retorted Amy, casually flipping through the channels as she munched on a bowl of popcorn.

"I guess I could do that," agreed Harley, slowly. "But I was kinda here first…"

"So a change of scenery will do you good," interrupted Amy. "You can study anywhere, Harley. I wanna watch TV."

"There's a TV in the common room," replied Harley.

"There are people there," retorted Amy. "They don't wanna watch what I wanna watch."

Harley sighed. Judging by Amy's rapid channel switching, she didn't really want to watch anything. But it was clearly no good arguing with her – Amy didn't usually respond well to logic and reason. Harley was obviously going to have to just surrender the room to her and go to the library. She was so tired of being a pushover, of being the nice one who would oblige everyone, of doing what she was supposed to do. One day she needed to just be stubborn and difficult and stand up for herself. But it wasn't gonna be today.

She sighed again, gathering up her books and notes. Amy had returned to watching the news, munching loudly on her popcorn. "_…new antagonist for the Dark Knight, a man known only as the Joker. His past unknown, the homicidal criminal has recently appeared on the scene in Gotham, his only motivation an apparent twisted sense of fun and love of chaos. Victims of this madman are often found with hideous death-grins, reflecting the maniac's own deformed face…_"

Harley suddenly looked at the screen and caught her breath. She stared at the pictures of the Joker being flashed across the screen, fixated. She recognized that smile. She vaguely recognized that face – there was something incredibly familiar about it. They were playing footage of Batman dragging him off, laughing, and she recognized that laugh. Recognized it as she would an image from a dream, hazy and indistinct, but nevertheless stark and certain. She knew him. She had encountered him before…somewhere…a long time ago…

"Boring," said Amy, flipping the channel again.

"No, Amy, go back!" exclaimed Harley.

"Oh, right. I forget you get off on this kinda stuff," snorted Amy. "Criminals and psychos and freaks, the weirder the better. Well, that guy is definitely weird," she said, flipping back to the news. Amy made a face. "Really creepy. And ugly."

"No, he's not," murmured Harley. Superficially Amy was probably right, but to Harley, there was something incredibly attractive about the face, something that stirred memories within her. Memories of love, delight, happiness, but happiness that she had had to hide, to keep secret. Love no one else would understand. Forbidden, wrong, twisted love that made her feel insanely happy. No, she had seen him before somehow. She could never forget that face.

Amy stared at her. "Are you serious? That thing's disgusting."

"He's not a thing," murmured Harley. "He is a mentally ill man, a victim of society, and obviously of some horrible accident. We should feel pity for him if anything. Pity and…" she trailed off, still staring enraptured at the screen. She had a sudden, overpowering urge to find out all she could about him, to explain why she remembered him, or thought she did.

"Harley? You ok?" asked Amy, gazing at her strangely.

"Yeah. He's just so…fascinating," she murmured.

Amy couldn't have looked more sickened. "Oh…my…God," she said, astonished. "You're perving on that! What the hell is wrong with you, Harley?!"

"I'm not perving!" snapped Harley.

"You're probably having fantasies about him right now," retorted Amy. "That's really sick, Harley. He's old enough to be your dad."

"So? He ain't my dad," retorted Harley. "My dad probably thinks he's a sick freak. That's usually how he judges everyone who's different."

"And I think he'd be right in this case," said Amy, nodding. "You know your accent slips when you get angry, right? Might wanna watch out for that."

"Yeah. Sure would be a shame if everyone knew I came from a small apartment in Brooklyn," Harley said sarcastically.

"Well, it probably won't do your career any favors talking like that," said Amy. "I can see why you hide it. You've also hidden your strange and disgusting attraction to hideous psychos. Any other dark secrets you're hiding, Harley?"

"Not that I can think of," retorted Harley. The news story had changed so she took her books and left the room without another word. She was angry, at Amy for what she'd said, and at herself for revealing too much of herself. She knew what she was deep down – a sick freak. But she had to hide it to fit into society, to succeed and do well and get a good career. Not that her father thought psychiatry was a good career. She dreaded going home for the holidays because he always ended up berating her for not wanting to be a real doctor. But she had no interest in diseases of the body, while diseases of the mind fascinated her. The more she studied, the more she came to the realization that everyone could be described as insane. Some people just hid it better than others. And some people, the brave ones, didn't hide it at all.

Harley wasn't brave. She never had been, and she thought she probably never would be. She didn't stand up to people, she wasn't true to her own passions and her own identity – she did what people expected her to do and was what people expected her to be. It was cowardly, and she hated herself for it. But she didn't have the strength to do anything else. At least, she thought she didn't.

"Harley. Just the very student I wanted to see. Would you mind stepping into my office?"

She was startled out of her thoughts as she passed down the row of offices on her way to the library and saw her psychiatry teacher, Professor Driscoll, standing by the door to his office.

"Oh…sure," she said, entering. He gestured to a seat.

"Sit down. Would you like a drink?"

"Um…no, thank you," she replied.

"I've just been reading over a couple of your papers," he said, sitting down opposite her. "You have a real passion for this subject, that certainly comes across in your essays."

"Oh…thanks," said Harley.

"I didn't necessarily mean it as a compliment," he said, looking at her over his glasses. "Psychiatry is a science, Harley. We have to maintain a certain impartiality and objectivity towards our subject and our patients. And while your enthusiasm cannot be questioned, I can't help but think your passion often blinds you to the true, scientific study of the mentally ill."

Harley shifted in her seat. "I believe when dealing with people's personal issues, you can't always be so objective," she murmured. "Individuals are unique, comprised of different experiences, and you have to understand them in order to help them…"

"Then perhaps you should not be a scientist," interrupted Professor Driscoll. "Science is not about individuals. It is about categorizing and analyzing, and psychiatry is about making so-called individuals function as a productive member of a group. We are not here to indulge eccentricities, Harley. We are here to cure people who are sick. Suit the treatment to the patient, by all means, just as doctors suit medicine to the individual disease, but the aim is always to make the system run effectively again as a whole. Which means no anomalies, no special cases, and no individuals. Do you understand?"

"You're saying we're here to brainwash people, Professor?" she asked quietly.

"If you must be melodramatic, yes," retorted Professor Driscoll. "If you want to go indulge individuality, I suggest you switch your major to art or drama or creative writing or some other waste of time. We are doctors, Harley. We fix people who are broken, either physically or mentally. You don't indulge a tumor in a cancer patient's brain – you cut it out. That's what we do with imperfections in the mind too. We cut them out."

"You make it all sound very…cruel," murmured Harley.

"Sometimes we have to be cruel to be kind," nodded the Professor. "Sometimes being cruel is the best help you can give someone. If you don't have the stomach for it, switch your major."

"I'm sure I can learn," replied Harley, quietly.

"I'm sorry if you think I'm being cruel on you," he said, gently. "I'm not trying to be. But being personal and subjective blinds you to the cure. Not only that, it's dangerous. Lunatics and psychopaths are clever, often heartless and manipulative people. You wouldn't want to be manipulated into something you'd regret, would you?"

"No," murmured Harley. "And as you say…sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind."

She nodded slowly, rising. "Well, thank you for the talk, Professor. I will try to do better in the future."

"You don't have to go," he said, quietly. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"

"I have my exam tomorrow I need to study for," she said.

"I know. It's my exam," he said. "And you don't have to study for it, not really."

She looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there are other ways to get good grades than reading books," he murmured. "I mean, smart girls do read books. But the really smart ones, ones like you, Harley, don't need to. They're smart enough to know there are alternative routes open to them. Smart girls who use both their brains and their bodies to their full advantage."

"I…don't understand," stammered Harley. She did, but she was horrified at the very thought, and she didn't want to upset the man who had the power to make or break her future.

"You're a very pretty girl, Harleen Quinzel," he whispered, reaching out a hand to touch her face. "You'll go far in life if you're not afraid to use all your assets."

"Professor, I'm flattered, but I really wouldn't be comfortable with…" she began.

"How do you know what you wouldn't be comfortable with until you've tried it?" he interrupted. His hand slid down her face and began slowly unbuttoning her top. Harley was terrified and disgusted, and horror seemed to have frozen her to the spot.

"That's it," murmured Professor Driscoll, mistaking her fear and hesitation for acceptance. "Just relax and do as you're told, Harley, like the good little girl you are."

Something about that phrase ignited the fire in Harley's soul, and suddenly her fury overcame her fear. He had leaned forward to kiss her, but she slapped him hard across the face. "I am not a good little girl!" she hissed. "And I do not do as I'm told! Not by you or anyone else like you! The hypocrites of the world, who judge and condemn and try to cure other people when their own minds are just as sick and twisted as any of their patients! How dare you try to fix people, Professor? How dare you claim to be superior to them and then try to seduce your own students? Let me tell you right now that I would rather sleep with a lunatic than ever sell my body to you for a good grade! I've got a little more self-respect than that, thank you very much! And I will succeed or fail on my own abilities, not by indulging the sick desires of other people! You can fail me if you want, but there are some things I won't sacrifice for my career, and my pride is one of them!"

She stormed from the room, shaking in fury. Fear resonated within her, and she felt angry, lost, confused, and scared for her future. Scared of what would happen if her decision meant she wouldn't succeed in her career. She needed to distract herself.

She entered the library and headed straight for the archives, leafing through past issues of newspapers until she came to a story about the Joker. She stared at his picture, feeling that familiarity, and that strange fascination and attraction rushing through her body again. It was sick. She was sick. Like him.

She gently touched the photo. He was different. Not like everyone else she had had to deal with, people who were selfish and cruel and horrible but pretended not to be. He didn't pretend. He wasn't afraid to admit all the things he was. If only she could be brave like him.

She would give anything to be like him. To be strong and free and unafraid. For that kind of man, she would give up anything. She would do anything. If he could only take the fear and pain and repression away.

She skimmed the article. He was being held in Arkham Asylum. She headed over to the computer and went to their website to see if they had any job openings or internships. They did, several. Apparently the employee turnover was pretty high, and she couldn't say she was surprised, what with the kind of patients held there. Really dangerous people. Really special, unique individuals…it was impossible to resist.

She wrote down the asylum's number and left the library, heading over to the campus payphone. She put a few coins in, then picked up the receiver and took a breath, dialling the number.

"Hello? Arkham Asylum."

"Hi. My name's Harleen Quinzel. I'm interested in applying for an internship."


	4. Chapter 4

"You believe in fate, sweets?"

"That's a strange question, Mr. Joker. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just seems kinda a crazy thing to believe in, so I was wondering if it was just me, or if normal people believed in it too."

"You consider me a normal person, Mr. Joker?"

"Well, you ain't the one locked up in here, are you, sweetheart? So yeah, people think you're normal. Not me, though, I know you ain't. There's something special about you, Doc. Something nice and familiar, y'know?"

Harley studied her patient lying on the sofa across from her. She did know. From the moment she had first seen the Joker on TV, and even more so since she had been analyzing him in the flesh, there had seemed something familiar about him. Something strangely warm and comforting, which was an odd thing to feel in relation to a homicidal lunatic. But then the Joker was right – she was not what people might call normal.

"Perhaps we've met before," she said. "Before you became…what you are now. Do you have any recollections of your life before the accident, Mr. Joker?"

"You mean before Bat-brain threw me into a vat of chemicals?" chuckled the Joker. "Nah, not a one. Well, not a solid one anyway. There are vague shapes and faces and things, but I don't know what they mean. My past is a clean slate, which is kinda nice in a way. No memories, no baggage to weigh me down. I'm free as a bird, or at least I would be if I wasn't locked in this cage!"

He laughed, a crazy laugh which nevertheless made Harley grin. His laughter was always contagious, as was his good mood and his gorgeous smile. She tried to suppress her own smile – it wasn't very professional of her to let on how much she enjoyed his company and his jokes.

"It's ok, you can smile, sweets," he said, as if reading her mind. "You got a real pretty smile, if you don't mind my saying. It'd be a shame to hide it. No better sight in the world than a beautiful woman with a beautiful smile."

She did smile at this. "You're very sweet, Mr. Joker," she said. "But I don't believe it's entirely appropriate for you to speak to me like that. I'm your doctor and you're my patient – we must maintain a strictly professional relationship."

"Thought you wanted to help me, Doc," said Joker. "The only way you can do that is if we're honest with each other. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't think you were an attractive woman. You must be used to people saying that to you, though. You've probably learned not to let compliments go to your head."

The truth was Harley hadn't had many compliments about her appearance in her life. She had devoted herself almost completely to her work and her study, ignoring the possibility of any relationships to complicate things and get in the way of her succeeding in her career. But she nodded slowly. "Yes. But thank you anyway. If I'm honest with you in return, it's still nice to hear them."

Joker grinned. "Well, I won't stop then, Doc. You're certainly the hottest shrink who's ever tried to get into my head. You ever wanna try getting anywhere else, you let me know."

Harley couldn't conceal a smile, which fell as she glanced at the clock. "I'm afraid our time's almost up," she said, setting aside her notebook and standing up. "I'll just pencil you in for the same time next week, if that's ok."

"I got a real busy schedule, Doc, but I'll make time for you," he replied, grinning. Harley grinned too as she turned away from him, turning to write on her calendar.

"Daddy wouldn't mind a piece of that," he murmured.

A chill went through Harley's body as a memory stirred within her. She turned, surprised, to face Joker. "What did you say?" she whispered.

He giggled. "Nothing, sweets," he murmured. "Nothing at all."

It had been her imagination, Harley assured herself, as the guards came and took Joker back to his cell. But that phrase had seemed so familiar somehow, although she couldn't remember quite why, or where someone had said it before. Someone had said it just like that…

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and then left her office, heading for her car. As pleasant as her session with the Joker had been, she wasn't looking forward to the rest of today.

"How's he doing, Mom?" asked Harley, as her mother stood up and hugged her in the hospital foyer.

"You know your father," sighed Harley's mother. "He always knows best. The doctors say he's being as uncooperative as possible, but they're hopeful he'll pull through. Most of them say he's too stubborn to die."

"That sounds like Dad," replied Harley, forcing a grin. "Is he well enough for visitors?"

Her mother nodded. "In a couple minutes. Doctor's just giving him his medicine right now."

Harley nodded as they both sat down. An awkward silence descended on the pair of them. Not that this was unusual, thought Harley. She had grown apart from her mother since leaving home. It wasn't intentional – these things just happened. And she didn't see her parents as often as she would have liked, but that was mostly because her father always made things difficult for her whenever she went home, berating her career choice as a psychiatrist and asking her why she hadn't become a real doctor after taking the trouble to get through med school. Harley could never explain to him why she had such an interest in the abnormal – he wouldn't understand.

"Do you ever hear from Ricky?" asked her mother, quietly.

Harley was surprised at the question. "Nah, not really," she replied. She hadn't heard from Ricky since graduating from high school. She hadn't really had the time to see any friends – she'd been busy. "Why?"

"Just wondering. He was always such a nice boy."

Harley nodded. "The truth is I'd like to see you settled down with a nice man, Harley," continued her mother. "Neither your father or I is getting any younger, and I think we'd both be relieved to know that you had someone in your life who could provide for you…"

"I can provide for myself, Mom, don't worry," replied Harley.

"I don't just mean financially," replied her mother. "I mean someone to take care of you, honey, to love you. It's real important, you know. Maybe I should have done a better job teaching you how important it is."

"I know, Mom," murmured Harley. "Believe me, I know. And when the right guy comes along, I'll know, don't worry."

"Mrs. Quinzel?" said a doctor, approaching them. "He's ready to see you now."

Harley's mother nodded. "You go in first, Harley," she said. "He'd want to see you first."

Harley stood up and followed the doctor down the hall. He opened the door for her and gestured inside, shutting the door after her. Harley looked at her father, lying in the hospital bed hooked up to several tubes and drips. Tears filled her eyes to see how weak he looked. He had always been so strong.

He opened his eyes when she entered and struggled to sit up. "Harley…"

"How are you feeling, Dad?" asked Harley, rushing over to help him. He pushed her away gently.

"It's fine, I can sit up on my own," he retorted.

"The doctors say you're getting better," said Harley.

He snorted. "I don't feel better if I am. Not that I'm surprised – I don't trust these doctors. Probably got bad grades in med school – probably should have ended up as shrinks."

Harley ignored the insult to her profession, taking a seat next to him and holding his hand. "How's the shrinking going, anyway?" asked her father. "Still wasting your time trying to help sick freaks?"

"Yeah," murmured Harley. "Got some exciting news, though, Dad. They've let me analyze the Joker."

"The Joker?" repeated her father.

"Yeah. You know that guy on the news, the one who fights Batman a lot…"

"I know who he is," interrupted her father. "The clown one. I tell you, Harl, I don't know what's happening to this city. Seems like there's another freak popping up every day. Thank God I'm dying before Gotham's overrun by the scum of society."

"He's a real interesting guy, the Joker," continued Harley. "He doesn't seem to remember anything before his accident, so there's not a lot to work with, but in a way that's helpful because you don't have to try untangling his past. But it's also unhelpful because you don't really know what drives him, since I don't think he even knows himself. He's going to be a difficult one to cure."

"He's a sick freak," retorted her father. "He can't be cured."

"I gotta try though, Dad, that's my job," murmured Harley.

"Waste of time, like I said," he retorted.

Tears came to Harley's eyes. "It's a pretty impressive achievement, especially for someone still fairly new to the psychiatric profession," she murmured. "I thought you'd be proud of me, Dad. That's all I want, y'know. For you to be proud of me."

"Then maybe you should have become a real doctor rather than a fake one," retorted her father. "All that hard work, Harley, and you wasted it, choosing to devote your life to the freaks and the weirdos like the Joker. It's just a shame."

_Shame_. For the second time that day, a recollection of something familiar came back to her. Something she couldn't quite place.

"I don't like you talking that way about him, Dad," she murmured. "He's a mentally ill man, a victim, and he deserves our compassion."

"_He's _a victim?!" demanded her father, furiously. "Jesus Christ, Harl, are you actually an idiot?! He's killed hundreds of people! He's not a victim, he's a murderer, and a monster!"

"He ain't a monster!" shouted Harley.

"And what have I told you about speaking properly?!" demanded her father.

"I ain't some goddamn kid anymore, Dad!" shouted Harley, as furious tears began to fall from her eyes. "You can't tell me how to talk or who to be anymore! Why can't you just respect the woman I've become?! Yeah, maybe it ain't all you hoped for for your only child, but I don't think my life's turned out so bad! I ain't done anything for you to be ashamed of! Why can't you just love me for who I am?!"

"Is there a problem?" asked the doctor, entering at that moment.

"No," muttered Harley, wiping her eyes hurriedly. "No, I'm just leaving. Mom should be in shortly, Dad. Goodbye."

"Harley…" her father began, but she stormed from the room. She returned to her car and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. She had devoted her whole life to work and study, and where had that got her? She was successful in her career, but she didn't have anyone who really understood her, who really loved her. She felt so alone, with no one to really talk to, no one to be honest with…

_…if we're honest with each other…_his words came back to her suddenly. Well, there was one person who would listen to her. He was crazy, but at least he would understand.


	5. Chapter 5

"No smile today, Doc? What's wrong?"

He was gazing at her in genuine concern. Harley didn't try to conceal the fact that she had been crying. She had received a phone call this morning from her mother. It had been bad news.

"It's…nothing," she murmured. "Nothing to do with our sessions, so I'll try not to let it bother me."

"It does bother you, though," he murmured. "Tell me, sweets. Please."

She stared at him, and nodded slowly. "My…um…father died this morning," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes again.

"I'm sorry," he replied, sincerely.

"I didn't get to say goodbye to him," she whispered. "Not properly…the last time we spoke we…we had a fight. I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. With that regret…"

"It's no good having regrets, kid," murmured Joker. "You can't change the past, so just don't think about it. I know I don't."

"You can't," she replied, managing a grin. "For the rest of us, the past is like…like a chain you can never escape, that weighs you down and keeps you prisoner. Regret, fear, disappointment, loss, it all piles up until you can't move anymore…"

"Aw, c'mon, kid, you're strong enough to break that chain," he replied, grinning. "You've had to fight your whole life to get where you are. Don't give up the fight now."

She wiped away her tears, but they kept coming. "My father loved me," she murmured. "But he never said it, y'know? I mean, I knew he did, so he didn't need to say it. He loved me the way all parents love their kids. It wasn't a choice – it was his duty. I don't think he would ever have made the choice to love me. I don't know why anyone would."

"Sometimes love ain't a choice, sweets," he replied. "Sometimes it's just an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge. A kind of insanity, y'know?"

"You remember loving people?" she asked, quietly.

He shook his head. "Nah. I've just been watching a lotta soaps lately. There's nothing else on TV in the daytime."

She laughed, despite herself, then stared at the floor, crying silently. "You see, he's dead now," she whispered. "And I never made him proud of me. That was all I wanted, that's why I did all this, that's why I worked hard, and gave up everything, for my dad to be proud of me. And now he never will…"

At that moment, Joker seized her face in his hands and shoved his mouth onto hers, kissing her passionately. Harley was too stunned to respond, until he drew away and whispered, "Daddy is proud of you, kid."

Harley stared at him. That kiss had awakened such new and exciting sensations, which nevertheless seemed familiar and comforting. It felt like a dream had suddenly come true. It felt like she was coming home.

She thrust her mouth onto his, needing that feeling again. It grew as they continued to kiss. Harley felt herself coming alive, felt something that she had suppressed for a long time returning, strong and warm and good. So good.

He pressed her down onto the sofa, climbing on top of her, his hands roaming her body and unbuttoning her blouse. This was thrilling and new, but it seemed as if she had experienced it before, somehow, even if it was only in her mind. It was perfect.

"Oh…Mr. Joker!" she gasped. "Mr. Joker, we can't do this!"

She made no move to stop him, however, and clutched him harder against her, kissing his face wildly and giving free reign to passions she had long tried to control.

"This is wrong," she continued. "This is wrong and dirty and…oh, Mr. J!" she gasped. "Oh, Mr. J, punish me! I'm such a bad girl!"

He laughed, his beautiful, intoxicating laugh. "You sure are, sweets," he growled. "Might have to give you a spanking."

She had heard that before too, somewhere. It was as if everything in her life had been building up to this moment, this perfect moment. If she was fated to be bad, she would be as bad as they came. As long as she had her Mr. J with her to make things right, who cared if the world thought it was wrong? She didn't anymore. She didn't care about anything else but him.

"I love you, Mr. J," she whispered.

He chuckled. "And I love you, Harley," he murmured in her ear.

And that was all she needed to hear.

**The End**


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